No Rest For The Wicked
by MonkeysUncle
Summary: Demon!AU. When Dave is captured by the government he is require to inject himself with a mysterious concoction, surpressing his true self, so he's more than surprised when the government calls years later, asking him for help to find a new evil rising up


The room was dark and dank; he lay shivering, curled up tightly in a ball. The stone walls were slick with grime, and his naked body was dirty from it. He rubbed at the shackles on his wrists, chains leading up to the wall immobilizing him further. He didn't even blink when a whimper came from the other corner of the room, another being like him chained up. The other's hair was just as gross, dust and sweat in the brown curls.

He let out a large growl, not use to being like this; weak, vulnerable. He laughed to himself in madness for a few moments. When he got his sights on whoever kept him here, they were dead.

His ears perked up, hearing footsteps coming his way. The door gave way, creaking and scratching along the floor, and a large stream of light flooded the room. The other demon curled further into the wall, whimpering once more.

He was up in an instant, struggling at the chains to get his hands on the person who did this to him.

"No use struggling, these chains are strong and even if you do try to use whatever demonic power you possess, it won't work," the voice was sharp, not impressed with the prisoners action. "Do you have an Earth name?" He waited a couple seconds, stepping more into the room. "I'm Sergeant Hummel. Burt, but seeing as you don't care..."

"Dave," Burt nodded.

"Okay, well, Dave. We have an offer for you,"

Dave snarled something out in an unidentified language before he settled, eyeing the man up and down.

"I could tear you apart," Burt laughed out at the threat.

"Right now you're more terrifying as a kicked puppy,"

"What do you want with me? Offer?"

Burt eyes went to Dave's inked skin, his lower arm swirling with dark marks. Dave followed the gaze, trying to cover it up before looking up at the young sergeant. Dave studied the man; young maybe mid-twenties, strong and had a rather demanding presence for a human. He'd still rip him in half easily though, but he couldn't do anything.

"If you agree, you will be given injections of Kal-8. I'm not an idiot and tell you what it is made of, but it has taken us years to come up with. It's going to help us against your kind."

"And why would I agree to do that?"

"Cause if you refuse, you'll be terminated immediately."

Dave's eyes locked with Burt's, a hint of a smirk on Burt's handsome face.

"You know deep down, you hate yourself. We've watched and followed certain potential for this project. We believe to be supernatural beings. We came upon you. You're held up in a crap shack, living among us. Yet, causing no harm to humans, it's curious. You're a weird case. You hate humans, yet you've never been seen with any noted demonic beings on our list."

"My hatred for humans will always be with me," Dave yelled out, eyes flashing to black and Burt took a step back.

Burt yelled at some guards, who flooded in, throwing a small dart at the demonic prisoner. Dave didn't react; his body shook slightly, eyes beginning to close. He saw a flash of blue out of the corner of his eyes, feeling a small pinch on his arm. A clammy hand gripped his chin, raising it. Dave's eyes were closing, but locked eyes with Burt's.

"So will your hatred for yourself."

25 years later...

Dave Karofsky was a chained demon. Not literally but for years now, he was a shell of his former self; he stayed away from human and demons, his tattoos would occasional burn and eyes would flash to black, but he knew he was hardly a threat. He was practically human.

He was somewhat relieved though. Dave thought back to the day Sergeant Hummel made him choose between death and basically becoming a defanged puppy. He only agreed to stay alive, but Burt was right.

He did hate himself for what he was.

He'd be thinking and asking himself for hours on end, why he of all things and creatures, why did he have to have some sort of doubt or regret for everything 'evil' that he has done? Why can't he be a ruthless killer like so many demons before him? He came from the same place, hellfire and all.

In a way, he guesses that these things saved him. And now, he has to pump himself full of the strange blue liquid every five hours.

It was dark out earlier than usual for some reason. Usually things only happen like this when something bad in the underworld is about to go down. Dave walked the near-bare streets of Lima, Ohio, this small, almost hick-like town. Dave could sense everything around him, all the emotions that the humans felt; sadness, fear, irritation and... The last one surprised him a bit. Curiosity. He sought out the person, to find a tall boy standing by a wall, coffee cup clutched in one hand as he looked at Dave.

"Can I help you?" Dave growled out and the boy simply smiled. He sipped his drink before taking a couple steps towards Dave. He held his nose in the air, brown hair neat and face that reminded Dave of those creepy porcelain dolls.

"Take this," he extended his hand out to Dave, opening his fist to reveal a small amount of change. Dave growled, smacking the boy's hand away, causing the coins to fly from his hand, falling to the ground.

"I'm not some fucking charity case!" Dave yelled out.

The boy took a step back, and did a double take as he saw Dave's eyes fill with darkness before quickly returning to normal. Dave just groaned and scratched at his arm, looking at the human. The boy huffed.

"I didn't mean to offend you of anything. Junkies need their fixes," he stopped for a moment, and looked down the street, impatiently tapping his foot. "Every single one of them does,"

"You're a fucking junkie?" Dave bit out and the boy glared at him. Dave stopped, waiting for an actual response. He didn't know why though. There was something about him.

"My therapist says it's because of my dad that I act this way. He's a fucking big shot military dude who doesn't care about me, spending all of his time working, and not giving a shit about his son," he brought a hand to his mouth, and began to chew on his blunt nails, and muttered under his breath, "Come on, Sam. Where are you?"

"I'm surprised you'd offer me money, seeing as junkies usually use all of it on shit," Dave said and the boy smiled, sticking out his hand once more.

"I'm Kurt."

"Dave," he responded, taking the hand in a firm grip.

Kurt's eyes kept on flicking over to the end of the street, waiting for this Sam person to show up. He tried to stifle an excited cheer when a blond haired, big lipped guy came towards the two of them. He eyed Dave up and down cautiously before Kurt had to wave him off, telling him that Dave wasn't a cop or anything. Kurt acted strange the entire time Sam was there; the arrogance seemed to drop and he became like a small, bashful child. He seemed disappointed when Sam said he had to run, doing another exchange a couple blocks away. Kurt pulled out his phone when Sam left, eyes widening in an almost comical way.

"Holy shit, it's almost nine!"

Nine...nine. Dave swore to himself. He had to leave, his house was a couple blocks away, and he didn't know if he was able to make it in time to inject himself. He had to inject himself or...they'd get him.

"I got to go. Nice talking to you," and Dave was off, not hearing the protest that the smaller boy did as he ran away. He glanced back at Kurt, watching as he picked up the coins from the ground.

He ran at full pace down the street. He knocked into a couple people, their curses not sticking in Dave's mind for more than a second. He didn't care who he'd have to go through, he needed to get home. He turned just at the last moment, entering a small three story apartment building, jumping three stairs at a time to get to his place. It was dark like always, and sweltering with heat. He'd always have to pay more money, but he had to have it that way. He had been use to heat for a long time.

He didn't bother taking his shoes off, bolting to his bedroom. Dropping to his knees, he searched under his bed for a moment, yelling in triumph when he pulled a small suitcase. He ripped it open, blue reflecting off of his face in the dark before grabbing the chunky vial. Grabbing the large needle, he filled it with the liquid, tapping it, and not wasting a single moment as he jabbed it into his arm.

He felt his heart slow, and he felt tired. He'd always feel like this after he'd taken the stuff, drowsy. He forced himself to get up though, feebly pushing the suitcase back under his bed, dragging himself to his dinky bathroom.

Dave turned the tap on, his ugly whirring noise coming from it before a rush of water began to fill the sink. Splashing water on him, he looked at himself; slightly full looking face with these arch brows. He's human teeth were a fraction of the size of his natural ones, but he hardly remembered what they had looked like it was so long ago. He didn't age. That was one thing that he liked about being in this human body, that more no matter how many years passed on Earth, he'd stay the same. A young, 18, maybe nineteen looking guy that people would say was big for his age, He didn't care though.

Turning the sink off, he made his way back to the bedroom, feet dragging the entire time. His face hit the pillow and he sighed in comfort before snarling out when he heard his phone buzz in the other room. He ignored it closing his eyes, and fell asleep.

His dreams were nightmares. He'd been walking down this twisted path, fire on both sides of it but not phased in the slightest. A sobbing blond woman held a small child, face buried in the young's neck. As he passed, she looked up, this grotesque ooze falling from her eyes, and Dave could smell the stench on her. She cried out again, holding the broken girl out to Dave. He studied the fallen child, confused when he saw the markings that he had on his own body.

Dave moved on, walking further down the path. He heard laughing and a small group of people sat in the middle of the path, seemingly having the time of their lives. They almost seemed familiar to him, like he knew them. They paid no attention to him though, carrying on and Dave watched the interaction; a boy with a mow hawk, arm swung around some blond chick laughing as this awkwardly dancing dude tried to explain something. There were at least a dozen more before there were suddenly a flash of bright light, Dave having to cover his eyes for a moment. He let out a strangled noise, more confused than anything when he brought his arm away; they were all dead, each of them having blood seeped from their bodies, grim looks on their faces. Dave needed to move on, but he couldn't help but flinch every single time that he stepped over.

This drug had made him weak, made him soft. He shouldn't care about what happened to these people. He was supposed to be this evil being that would help add to the body count, not wanting to stop it.

The path comes clear, and the fire stops. Kurt sits on this throne like chair, a large amount of heavily armed men behind him. They are all in black, these clunky guns aimed towards him and he just stopped.

Dave watched as Kurt tapped his finger against his chin in thought. He reached down, bending to acquire something behind the large chair. Dave's eyes widened when he pulled a chain, yanking it violently before that Sam dude ambles out. He's practically naked, blood falling from his wrists and his face and it takes Dave a second to realize that Sam's eyes have been gouged out.

Kurt laughs out, barking something that Dave isn't paying any attention to because he is just too busy looking at Sam, eyes fixated on the blonds' face. Kurt's sentence was lost to him, but he managed to catch the last word. He went back to Kurt watching as the boy stuck himself with a needle, a look of pure delightful crossing his face.

"Who's Blaine?"

Dave watched as Kurt stopped and stared at him, a sneer forming on his handsome face. Dave took a step back as Kurt's face transformed, melting almost, and skin peeling off of his body. His skin dripped off, and Dave's eyes flickered over to Sam's whos face was doing the same as Kurt's. He didn't react fast enough as they lunged towards him, tackling him to the ground, ripping at his skin.

"You're just a human now," the skull of Kurt sang out when he clawed at Dave's face. He could feel his skin tearing. A bony hand made his way into view, the tips dripping of red liquid. "You don't even bleed like a demon anymore. This black has been replaced with red, and unless you follow him, it will never go back!"

Kurt hissed out, and Dave screamed when he felt two set of enlarged teeth bite his neck.

Dave woke up, sweating, panting and a little bit terrified. He looked over at his clock, sighing to find out that he was only asleep for half an hour. That was quite a deep sleep, Dave thought to himself, trying to remember everything that happened to him in it. The women, the bodies of those kids, Kurt...

Dave grabbed his head in frustration, his mind flooded with questions. It wasn't until he heard his phone buzz again that he snapped from his thoughts. He moved to the living room where his phone was, clicking the talk button and practically snapping the head off of the person on the other line in greeting.

"Dave Karofsky." Dave froze, he knew that voice. He hadn't heard that voice in years.

"Sergeant Hummel, what do you want?"


End file.
